Falling
by Mizzykitty
Summary: Kenji takes Shingo to the hospital after the infamous gumtape deathmatch, and an unlikely friendship forms between the two racers. Warning: there is some violence and yaoi content.
1. Chapter 1

_Have you ever buried your face in your hands_

_'Cause no one around you understands_

_Or has the slightest idea what it is that makes you be?_

_Have you ever felt like there was more_

_Like someone else was keeping score_

_And what could make you whole was simply out of reach?_

_Well, I know_

-Offspring

* * *

"Have you called the tow truck?" Iketani asked.

Shingo nodded.

"Are you hurt?" Kenji asked.

Shingo looked down at his wrist. It had hurt a lot when he'd pried it from the remnants of tape still attaching him to the steering wheel, but it wasn't hurting now. He wasn't feeling much of anything now. "I don't know," he admitted.

He didn't notice Kenji and Iketani exchanging a worried glance.

"How about I stay here to wait for the tow truck, and Kenji can give you a lift to the emergency room?"

Shingo stared at the twisted wreck that had once been his precious EG-6. He didn't want to leave it in someone else's hands. He hadn't had much reason to trust people, let alone a couple of racers he hardly knew.

Iketani gave him a reassuring, if awkward, smile. "I'll take good care of her – I promise."

Shingo sighed and handed the keys over. After all, the Speedstars had a reputation, if not for being particularly good racers, then at least for being decent guys.

"Come on, I'll take you to the hospital," Kenji said.

Shingo got into the passenger seat of the 180. As they pulled away, he took one last regretful look at his car before he turned away from the carnage.

"It's usually not as bad as it looks," Kenji commented.

"There's radiator fluid all over the road," Shingo said morosely.

"I'm sorry."

For some reason, the empty platitude rankled. "What're you sorry about?" he snapped. "It's not _your_ fault, is it?"

He expected the timid 180 driver to retreat into silence after that, but Kenji persisted. "You shouldn't be so hard on yourself. Everyone makes mistakes. If we didn't, we'd never learn anything."

"That's easy for you to say," Shingo grumbled.

"No, it's not." Kenji shot him a sideways glance. "You don't think I've made stupid, costly mistakes before? It happens to everyone."

"Hmph."

"You're just lucky you didn't get really hurt."

Shingo didn't answer. He was actually a little disappointed that he wasn't more seriously injured. He was disgusted with himself, and a part of him felt that he'd not so much avoided injury as escaped punishment. Though his wrist was throbbing now, it didn't compare to the regret that ate at him.

When they reached the hospital, he expected Kenji to drop him off at the entrance, but the Nissan driver insisted on parking and accompanying him inside. He was therefore forced to sit in the waiting room filling out forms with Kenji glued to his side like a Siamese twin. At least it was his left hand that was injured, not his right one, or Kenji would have had to fill out the forms for him, which would've just added insult to injury.

The waiting room was quiet. Apparently, this wasn't one of the more busy nights in the ER. They waited only a short time before Shingo was admitted to the exam room. Kenji did not follow him in, thankfully. By then, Shingo's wrist was an unidentifiably misshapen mass of swollen, discolored flesh.

"Mr. Shouji," the doctor said by way of greeting. "What did you do to your wrist?"

Shingo shrugged. "I was playing football, and I fell on it."

"At this time of night?" the doctor asked with a skeptical squint.

Shingo stared him down. He wasn't accountable to this asshole, or to anyone else for that matter. He did what he wanted when he wanted, and he wasn't about to get into a debate about illegal street racing with some holier than thou doctor.

After a moment, the doctor let the matter drop. He began to manipulate Shingo's injured arm gently. "Does it hurt when I do this?" he asked.

Shingo winced. "It doesn't feel good."

The doctor flexed his wrist, and this time Shingo felt a distinct popping feeling followed by a sharp pain.

"Ow!"

"Relax," the doctor murmured. He examined Shingo's entire arm from shoulder to fingertips, and then sat back to make his pronouncement. "All right, Mr. Shouji, you're going to need an x-ray before I can determine whether you've fractured your wrist, or just sprained it. The nurse will be in in a moment to help you." With that, he disappeared.

About forty five minutes later, Shingo was back in the exam room, a pair of freshly snapped x-rays of his arm on display in all their backlit glory.

"The good news is I can't detect any breaks in your wrist. Of course, hairline fractures are often difficult to detect by x-ray. From the amount of swelling, I think the likelihood is that there is a very small fracture that I can't see, but it could also be a particularly bad sprain. That happens when the ligaments between your bones are stretched or torn. Either way, your condition isn't so severe that you'd need a cast. I'm going to have the nurse bandage your hand in an elastic wrap. It will help to keep the swelling down. She'll give you an ice pack, as well. Keep the ice pack on it for about 20 minutes at a time. She'll also give you a sling to wear around your neck. I want you to wear that for the next 48 hours, to reduce swelling. After that, I want you to wear a wrist splint for the next 10 days. That will limit your mobility in that hand, but since it's your left hand, you should be able to function fairly well with it. If it hurts, take some ibuprofen or aspirin. If the pain increases, or it becomes very swollen, please come back. If not, then I'd like you to follow up with your regular physician after the 10 days, just to make sure everything is all right. Ok?"

Shingo didn't have a regular physician and certainly wasn't going to come back to the ER just for a follow up, but he nodded anyway.

"All right, I'll send in the nurse. You have a good night," the doctor said as he left.

A few minutes later, a nurse bustled in with a lot of stuff in her hands. She bandaged Shingo's hand up while reiterating almost verbatim everything the doctor had just told him. She tied on his sling and made him put his hand in it while she adjusted the height. Then she slipped an ice pack in there, gave him his splint and a couple ibuprofen, and sent him on his way.

Kenji pounced on him the moment he stepped out into the waiting room. "What did the doctor say? Are you all right? Is it broken?"

Shingo sighed wearily. "It's just a stupid sprain. I'll be fine."

"Oh, good!" Kenji said with just a little too much relief, as if Shingo had just announced that he didn't have cancer.

He gave the 180 driver a strange look, but Kenji didn't seem to notice.

"Iketani called while you were in there. He asked the tow truck driver if he would consider towing it to a garage in Myougi, but they said that would be pretty expensive. He didn't think you'd want that, so he just gave them the address of a local garage. I know the place; we use it often. I can give you the number so that you can call them in the morning. Don't worry, they do good work, and you can trust them not to screw you on the price."

Shingo nodded.

"So uh, I was thinking about it, and uh, do you want to crash at my place tonight? It's just that it's late, and it's a long way out to Myougi. You're more than welcome to stay at mine. Otherwise, I could take you to a motel or something."

"If you're offering, then yeah, it's better than paying for a place."

"Great!" Kenji said with a sort of breathless enthusiasm.

Shingo squinted at him in the harsh fluorescent hospital light. He felt like he'd just accepted an invitation to a party or something. Whatever drugs this guy was on, he thought maybe he could use some.

A short while later, they arrived at Kenji's abode.

"My mom's not home yet, I guess," Kenji said as he turned on the lights in the living room.

It was a typical lower middle class two bedroom flat with cheap wooden furnishings and a floral patterned couch. It felt a little too familiar to Shingo, and for some reason, it put him on edge.

"You want some water or something?"

"No, I'm fine," Shingo replied.

"Ok," Kenji said amiably. He led them to his bedroom. The lights turned on to reveal a tidy little room with a single bed and desk. The shelves above the desk were lined with racing magazines. A few of the magazines were stacked on the desk, and a few items were lying about, but for the most part, the room was neat and orderly. "I was going to let you sleep on the couch, but since my mom's not home yet, she might freak out if she finds you unexpectedly. If you don't mind the floor, you can sleep in here."

Shingo sighed. "I don't mind," he said. He'd slept in worse places and besides, he was just too exhausted to care.

"How's your hand? Do you need more ice?"

Shingo removed the melted ice pack and set it on the desk. "Yeah, maybe in a bit. I'm only supposed to keep it on for 20 minutes at a time."

"Oh, ok. Just let me know. The bathroom's over there, by the way," Kenji said, leaning out of the room to point down the short hallway.

"Great." Shingo made a break for the bathroom. Once he was safely locked inside, he lowered the lid of the toilet and sat down. He hadn't had a second to himself since the wreck. Now that he had a moment to reflect, however, all he could think was what the fuck was wrong with him? What was he thinking swerving into Fujiwara like that? He stood, suddenly restless, agitated, like there were a million bugs crawling under his skin. He wanted to fight someone until he beat the hell out of them (or vice versa), or fuck someone (or vice versa). Now was not the time or the place for any of that, though, so he got up, washed his hands and face and dried them on a faded towel. "Oi!" he called as he exited the bathroom.

"Yes?" Kenji said. The eager look on his face reminded Shingo of puppies at the pound hoping to be adopted.

"I need a drink," Shingo announced.

"Oh, ok. We have some lemonade and maybe some coke. There's also water-"

"No, a _drink_," Shingo said with emphasis.

Kenji glanced at the alarm clock on his nightstand, and cocked his head quizzically. "Now?"

"Yeah, now," Shingo insisted.

"We don't have any alcohol, but there's a convenience store down the street," Kenji said.

"Great," Shingo said as he turned and headed for the front door.

Kenji quickly caught up with him. Slipping on his shoes without untying them, he followed Shingo out the door and into the street.

"Lead on," Shingo said when they reached the main road.

Kenji turned left. "It's this way."

"Howcome you don't have any alcohol? Don't you drink?" Shingo asked while they walked. It seemed strange to him, since his mom always kept at least a few beers in the fridge at all times.

"My mom doesn't believe in drinking."

"What's to believe in?" Shingo wanted to know.

Kenji shrugged. "She thinks it's the same as drugs."

Shingo extracted a cigarette from the pack in his coat pocket and lit up in one quick, well practiced motion. "As long as it's not hurting anyone, what's the harm?" He exhaled a stream of smoke into the humid air. God, he needed a drink.

"I don't know," Kenji answered, "but when she comes home, try to hide it, ok? It would upset her if she knew we were drinking in the house."

Shingo grimaced, but nodded. He was a guest, after all.

They were soon at the convenience store and confronted with the task of picking something out of the store's surprisingly diverse selection of drink.

"Let's get the vodka," Shingo said after a few minutes of staring at all the shiny bottles with colorful labels lined up on the shelf.

"I guess it's cheap," Kenji said with a shrug.

Shingo grabbed the bottle off the shelf, brought it to the counter, and paid. In minutes, they were back outside and headed for home. Shingo walked quickly, anxious to start drinking. It was like an itch he couldn't scratch, and it was driving him nuts.

Kenji let them into the house and Shingo immediately went to the kitchen to retrieve two glasses. He entered Kenji's room to find the 180 driver sitting on the bed, channel surfing.

Shingo joined him on the bed and poured them each a double shot of vodka. He handed Kenji one of the glasses and raised his own glass briefly before he downed the contents in one swallow. The alcohol burned its way down his throat, but it was so comforting, like sinking into a soft bed.

Kenji sniffed at his glass. He took a small sip and made a face. At Shingo's disapproving look, Kenji quickly knocked back the drink. He swallowed, choked, and started to cough.

Shingo slapped him on the back. "Good stuff, right?"

"Yeah," Kenji wheezed, his eyes watering.

Shingo promptly poured them each another double shot.

"Oh, no," Kenji protested. "Really, I'm not much of a drinker."

Shingo shot him a pained look. "Listen, Kenji, nobody likes drinking alone, yeah? And seeing as I've had a really shitty night, I think you can afford to humor me a little."

Kenji reluctantly picked up his glass.

Shingo polished off his drink with relish, and poured himself another. As the alcohol hit, he relaxed, leaning against the wall, and felt some of his anxiety ease.

"You're all right, you know," he said by way of thanks.

Kenji set his empty glass down on the nightstand. "Um, thanks?"

"Seriously. You could'a left me there, but you didn't," he said. He noticed that his speech was becoming a bit slurred, but the beauty about having drunk several shots of vodka in the space of ten minutes was that he didn't give a damn. "I mean, I know that tofu kid hates me now. Shit, I don't blame him, and I wouldn't'a blamed you either if you'd just kept on driving. But you guys, you're stand up guys."

Kenji flushed. "Iketani's always saying that team politics should be set aside when people really need help."

Shingo nodded. "That's good, that's nice. But you know, nice people only get fucked in the end. Do yourself a favor, you know? You can't go through life like that, being nice, just doing what people tell you to do. If you want something, you gotta just take it."

Kenji frowned. "It's that sort of take what you want, screw everybody else attitude that's got this world the way it is."

Shingo snorted. "Whaddyou gonna do, change the world? Good fucking luck! You might as well bend over and get ready to be screwed."

"Well, I think it's better to be screwed over than to screw someone else over. At least then you're not perpetuating the cycle of misery."

"Hey, the cycle of misery doesn't need your help to perpetuate," Shingo said. He poured them each another shot, slopping a few spots onto the nightstand in the process. "Every minute of every day some guy's getting robbed on the street, some girl's getting raped by her own boyfriend, and some kid's getting the shit kicked out of him by his old man. Nothing I can do to stop any of that, is there? So why not just do the best I can with what I got?"

"Iketani says-"

"Oh yeah, I just bet he does," Shingo interrupted. "He's straight, you know. It doesn't matter how much of his drivel you swallow or how hard you try, he's never gonna like you the way you want him to."

"Wh-wh-how-" Kenji spluttered, turning bright red.

"Oh, cut the theatrics," Shingo snapped. "It's so obvious. If he doesn't know, then he's just about the only one."

Kenji stared down at the comforter, his face burning with shame.

Even in his alcoholic haze, Shingo felt a twinge of pity for him. "Hey, come on. It's not so bad. There's other fish in the sea, and all that."

"Other fish? He's my best friend!" Kenji said. "We're…meant to be."

Shingo snorted derisively. "What do you think, that he's gonna miraculously turn gay for you? Wishing for shit gets you nowhere, and believing in fantasies just makes you more miserable in the end. My advice? Move on."

"That's easy for you to say, isn't it?" Kenji retorted.

"Hey, you think you're the only asshole in the world who's ever loved someone who didn't love you back?"

Kenji winced. "I guess not…"

"Kenji? I'm home," a woman's voice called from the living room.

"It's my mom!" Kenji sprang out of the bed and proceeded to flap about in a blind panic.

Shingo grabbed the bottle and glasses off the nightstand and hid them behind a pillow.

Kenji's mother appeared in the doorway a moment later.

"Oh, honey, I didn't know you were having friends over tonight," she said with a slight frown.

"I'm sorry, it was all kind of last minute," Kenji said.

"What happened to you?" she asked as she spied Shingo's sling.

"Mom, this is Shingo," Kenji said nervously. "He got into an accident-"

"While playing football," Shingo interjected. "I sprained my wrist, so I couldn't drive home. Kenji was nice enough to put me up for the night. I hope it's not too much of a bother."

She gave him a calculating look. "No, it's not a bother," she said at last. "Kenji, can I talk to you for a minute?"

Kenji swallowed. "Um, yeah."

He hurried out into the hallway, pulling the door ajar behind him. Shingo sighed and flipped through the television channels while he waited.

When Kenji returned, he closed and locked the bedroom door behind him. "Sorry."

Shingo raised an eyebrow at him. "For?"

"My mom." Kenji inadvertently pulled a face. "She wasn't exactly happy to see you."

"Parents never are."

"Well, you did lie to her. Not that she suspected the truth, but she thought you were 'sneaky'."

Shingo snorted. "I _am_ sneaky, but I didn't do it for me. I did it for you, you daft bastard. You never tell them it was racing. Don't you know anything?"

"What's wrong with telling her the truth? I don't want to lie to my mom."

"Think about it. Next time you go out racing, what's she going to think of? She's going to picture this," Shingo pointed at his sling, "and she'll think oh my god, that could happen to my baby! She'll freak out, and then every time you go out from then on she'll give you a hard time about it. So if you want to get hassled every time you walk out the door, then by all means, tell her the truth."

Kenji sighed. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I'm sure you have a lot of experience with that kind of thing."

Shingo shrugged. "Not me, I live alone. Some of my friends' parents are like that, though. Here," he said, topping up their glasses.

They clinked glasses and drank down their shots. Kenji popped a random movie into the DVD player. Shingo was sure that the 180 driver had told him what they would be watching, but he couldn't remember and didn't really care. He slumped down in the bed and allowed himself to slip into a comfortable daze.

He drifted in and out of consciousness as the bright action scenes flashed across the screen. Something touched his leg, and he looked down to see Kenji's hand on his thigh. As he watched, the hand crept higher, drawing lazy circles across his leg. He glanced over to find Kenji looking at him with that same sort of puppy look. Then the 180 driver kissed him, and his lust spiked sharply.

Shingo snapped awake with a start. The television was off, and the room was dark. He looked over at Kenji in alarm, but the 180 driver was fast asleep. It was just a dream. He shifted to ease the pressure in his pants and the crick in his neck. He had fallen asleep sitting up in bed. He was supposed to have slept on the floor, he recalled, but Kenji had simply carved out a niche for himself on the bed and went to sleep. With a shrug, Shingo slid underneath the covers. The bed was meant for a single occupant, so it was extremely cramped. There was no way he could sleep without touching Kenji. In the end, he wound up with his back against the wall, loosely spooning the Nissan driver. It wasn't ideal, but before long, the alcohol in his system put him right back to sleep.

Shingo woke to a warm body in his arms. Without achieving full awareness, he snuggled closer.

A soft gasp brought him fully awake. He opened his eyes and glanced around the room, disoriented. Then he looked down, and found Kenji looking up at him with a confused expression.

Shingo reddened. "Er…sorry," he said. He quickly disentangled himself from the 180 driver and sat up.

Kenji pulled the covers up around himself and eyed him apprehensively. "It's…ok," he said.

Shingo sighed. "You sleep ok? Sorry I just crashed here. It was late, and I didn't want to wake you."

"Don't worry about it. I slept fine, probably because of all that vodka."

Shingo nodded, then excused himself to the bathroom. When he emerged from a steaming hot shower, he felt much better, more alert. He hoped Kenji didn't take the incident in bed too seriously. The last thing he needed was some goony kid developing a crush on him. Not that he considered himself particularly crush-worthy, but Kenji seemed like just the sort of attention starved virgin who would have low expectations.

"How you feeling?" he asked.

"Oh, ok," Kenji replied. "I was feeling kind of sick this morning, but I just went back to sleep."

"Yeah, I think I slept through my hangover too."

"It's almost noon. The garage should be open by now, if you want to call them," Kenji said.

"Oh yeah," Shingo said. He grabbed his phone off the nightstand. "What's the number?"

Kenji pulled his phone out of his pocket, scrolled through his address book, and read out the number.

After a few minutes in conversation with the garage, Shingo hung up. They would need to do their evaluation of the damage before they could come up with an estimate. Till then, he would just have to wait.

"Listen, do you think you can take me home now? I have a lot of things to do today."

Disappointment flitted briefly over Kenji's features, but Shingo chose to ignore it. "Yeah, sure, of course. Let me have a quick shower, and then we can go."

About an hour later, they arrived at Shingo's apartment complex.

"Uhm, do you think I could have your number?" Kenji ventured.

Shingo sighed. He had to give the guy credit for trying, but he'd been hoping they wouldn't actually have to have this conversation. "Listen, Kenji, you're a nice guy. You don't want to hang around with someone like me."

"Why not?"

Shingo ignored the sad little hurt look on Kenji's face. "I have a lot of problems," he said curtly.

"Like what?"

"Like it's none of your business," Shingo snapped.

"Oh," Kenji said. "But…can I have your number anyway? It's just that, I don't know any other guys who know about, um, you know, and it would just be nice to have someone to talk to about…these kinds of things."

"…fine," Shingo said, rolling his eyes but caving nonetheless. The guy just seemed so helpless. He pulled his phone out of his pocket. "What's your number?" Kenji dictated while he typed it into his phone and dialed. When they heard Kenji's phone ring, he hung up.

"Thanks," Kenji said.

"No problem. Thanks for taking me home. See you around." Shingo got out of the car. He waved one last time and then hurried up the sidewalk to his apartment building.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Kenji stared longingly at his best friend as Iketani recounted the events of the previous weekend for Takumi and Itsuki's benefit.

"…found him on the side of the road, his EG-6 all smashed up. The guy was a mess."

"Serves him right," Itsuki said. "He could have killed Takumi. Right?"

"Aah," was all the laconic 86 driver had to say on the matter.

"He's a cheater, and a jerk, and-"

"He's not so bad," Kenji said. It wasn't until everyone stopped to gape at him that he realized he'd said that out loud. "He was pretty shaken up on the way to the hospital. I don't think he did it on purpose. I mean, he seemed to feel pretty bad about it."

"That doesn't mean anything," Itsuki insisted. "Just because he feels bad that he smashed up his car doesn't mean he feels bad that he tried to hurt Takumi. Remember when he almost made Iketani-sempai crash? He seemed to think that was funny. He's nothing but a…jerk!"

"More than that," Iketani said. "He's dangerous, maybe a sociopath."

Kenji didn't mention that Shingo had spent the night at his house, nor did he tell them what they had done. He was feeling inexplicably protective of the Nightkids driver, and didn't want to give his friends any more reasons to criticize Shingo. For the last few nights, as he'd lain in his bed, he had closed his eyes and imagined strong arms wrapped around him.

But Kenji wasn't attracted to bad boys. Iketani was the very definition of all that he loved in a man. When he was in Iketani's presence, he felt nothing but respect and adoration for his best friend, who was sweet and kind, decent, honorable, and trustworthy. Shingo was everything he was not. He was a lying, cheating, conniving bastard who only hurt the people around him. Kenji wanted nothing to do with him. At least, that's what he told himself. But every night when his fantasies came to life, it was Shingo's nasal voice whispering obscenities into his ear, and Shingo's hands roving roughly over his body.

Kenji shivered as he shut the images out of his head. Even if he liked Shingo, which he didn't, the Civic driver didn't want him. Iketani didn't want him, either. No one did. He was the worse kind of loser, pathetically pining after people who just weren't interested. He should just give up now. He had good friends and a loving family, didn't he? He didn't need a boyfriend. He could be perfectly happy, just the way he was. Yeah…right.

"Kenji?"

He snapped back to reality at the sound of his name. "Huh? Where are Takumi and Itsuki?" he asked, realizing for the first time that they were gone.

"They just left. Are you all right?" Iketani asked, his concern giving his features a rather cutely befuddled look.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Kenji said hastily.

"You sure? You've been kind of distracted lately. Anything I should know about? A new girlfriend, maybe?" Iketani said with a playful grin.

A wave of pure horror washed over Kenji. "No!" he exclaimed, somewhat louder than he had intended, making everyone in the vicinity turn and look at him. He gave them a weak wave before scrunching down in the booth. "No," he repeated in a more normal tone. "I've just had a lot on my mind, that's all."

"Well, if you want to talk about it or something…" Iketani said, leaving the invitation open.

The warmth and caring in his eyes made Kenji feel wretchedly undeserving. Here he was, so busy fantasizing about a guy who tried to hurt his best friend that he was totally blanking said friend.

"Thanks, but really, I'm fine." Honestly, he was the worst friend ever!

Kenji stared down at his mobile phone. The contacts list was open, Shingo's name highlighted. He wanted desperately to speak to the EG-6 driver. He'd had such a rotten week, and things seemed impossibly out of control. He just needed someone to talk to, someone who would understand him, who would know what he was thinking without having to ask.

No, that was just his romantic fantasies taking flight again. Shingo had warned him about that. But was it really his imagination that Shingo seemed to understand what he was feeling, better than even he did?

There was only one way to find out. He took a deep breath and dialed.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Shingo?"

"Yeah?"

"It's me, Kenji."

"I know, I got your number, remember? What do you want?"

He didn't think Shingo had meant to sound quite so curt there, but he felt rebuked all the same, and had to resist the urge to hang up. No, he wasn't going to back down now, not after he'd already made the call.

"Hello?" Shingo prompted impatiently.

"I uh, I…I was wondering if I could uh, see you. I mean, maybe we could have a drink, or dinner or something." He suddenly realized what that sounded like. "I mean, just to talk, if that's ok. Unless, you changed your mind about…but you probably haven't. Not that I want that, but I mean, I don't not want it, that is-"

"Oh for fuck's sake, grow a pair!" Shingo snapped. "I get off work at six. I'll meet you near the bottom of Mt. Myougi around half six."

"Yeah-" A sharp click and the dial tone cut him off.

Initially, Kenji tried to quash his excitement, but in the end, he decided the hell with it, and did a little happy dance.

"…and then the printer broke, and my boss was so mad. He chewed me out in front of everyone in the office, and I just felt so stupid! All I wanted to do was spend some time with my friends, but Iketani's all hung up on this girl Mako. It's all he talks about! I'm so sick of hearing about-"

"Mako?" Shingo asked suddenly. "Like Sayuki's friend Mako?"

Kenji shook his head, his mind drawing a blank. "She's kind of tall, long hair…"

Shingo shrugged. "Well, if it's the girl I'm thinking of, then your friend is dating the driver from Impact Blue." At Kenji's failure to recognize the name, he said, "I'll just assume Iketani's too clueless to know who she is, because I bet if he did know, he would've already bragged to you about it."

"Bragged? About what?"

"Well, for one thing, she's hot. Not just hot, smokin' hot, and she's one hell of a driver, too, but don't tell her I said so."

Kenji grimaced. "Great."

"Well, maybe it's not her," Shingo said with a dismissive wave. "Sayuki said she'd given up dating racers. Said they always wanted her to give up racing. Guess no guy's worth that, huh?"

Kenji drank moodily from his bottle of beer. "I don't know, I'm not that good," he said. "Wouldn't be much of a hardship to give it up."

Shingo raised an eyebrow at him. "Shit, you're worse than I thought. Beer's not gonna help when you're feeling this bad. Drink up, and we'll go."

"Where?"

"You'll see."

Kenji hiked after Shingo, the only illumination the meager light of the waning moon. He wondered if the Nightkids driver could even see where he was going. It was so dark that they could easily fall down a ravine before they even realized it was there.

"You're not tipsy, are you?" Shingo asked suddenly.

"No." He had been starting to get a bit tipsy at the bar, but all this hiking around in the dark had sobered him right up.

"You think you could drive, if you had to?"

"Um, yeah, but I don't think I should."

"Relax, we're not going to be driving. This is better than racing, better than getting drunk, better than sex, probably."

Kenji's eyes widened. He was starting to get really anxious. "What are we doing out here?"

"You'll see."

"B-but I don't want to see; I want you to tell me."

"It wouldn't be a surprise if I told you, now would it?"

He was reminded of a time in gradeschool when he was lured into a parking lot and beaten up by the school bully and his pack of friends. But if Shingo had wanted to beat him up, he needn't have hiked out to the middle of nowhere to do it. Unless the EG-6 driver intended to kill him and bury his body out here in the woods - but no, that was just plain crazy. Why would he do that? Shingo couldn't possibly be that much of a sociopath…could he?

"You're not gonna hunt me for sport, are you?" he asked with a nervous laugh.

Shingo snorted. "What the hell would be sporting about that?"

"That's reassur-oof!" Kenji tripped on something hard and fell, banging his knee sharply. As he felt around with his hands, he realized that he had stumbled on a railroad tie.

"You ok?" Shingo asked. He reached down and hauled Kenji to his feet by the arm.

"Yeah," Kenji said, although his knee was still smarting. He glanced around and noted that they were near a bridge. The sound of rushing water came to his ears – a river. Then he felt something, a vibration along the tracks.

"Train's almost here. Come on," Shingo said, leading him onto the tracks and to the edge of the bridge.

"We shouldn't be on the tracks if the train's coming," Kenji said, although he felt that surely this went without saying.

Shingo turned to him then. His eyes glittered weirdly in the moonlight. "We're gonna wait till the train gets to that tree." He pointed at a dark shape in the distance. "Then we're gonna run. When we hit the middle of the bridge, we jump."

Kenji gaped at him. "What? Why?"

"Because it's fun."

"That's insane! If you want to kill yourself, fine, but I'm not *that* depressed!"

Shingo laughed as if Kenji had made a joke. "We're not committing suicide, you moron. I've done this before. Just follow me, and you'll be fine."

The vibrations were getting stronger. Kenji could hear the rhythmic chugging of the train. It sounded like it was traveling fast. His heart pounded in his chest. "Better than sex?" he asked weakly.

Shingo grinned. "You bet."

Kenji startled himself by nodding.

The blast of the train's horn reverberated through Kenji's bones, or maybe it was the shaking of the tracks. He couldn't tell, but when Shingo turned and ran, he sprinted after him before he could rethink his decision.

The train bore down on them, a massive, powerful force that would crush them the instant they fell behind. The bridge was shaking so hard that Kenji feared he would lose his balance, but he didn't. He didn't look back, didn't stop to wonder, worry, or think. He just ran, ran like the devil was after him because it pretty much was. The horn sounded again, so loud it felt like it was inside his head. A wall of air hit his back, and in that instant, Shingo disappeared over the side of the bridge. Terrified, Kenji flung himself off the bridge just as the train rushed past in a grinding screech of metal on metal.

Freefall. Kenji screamed. The river rushed towards him at an alarming speed, and then he was plunged into its icy depths. The water was black as pitch. He thrashed around, unable to tell which way was up. Then something latched onto his shirt and dragged him to the surface. Kenji broke the surface of the water with loud gasps. Shingo let go of him and began swimming towards the shore with long, determined strokes. Kenji followed suit, reaching the shore under his own power. He slogged out of the river and onto the rocky sand, never more grateful to feel solid ground beneath his hands and knees than he was at that moment.

"Oh my god, holy shit, holy fucking shit," he said, the curse words pouring from him unbidden. They seemed at once appropriate, and completely inadequate. He rolled over onto his back and looked up. Stars littered the night sky, breathtaking in their cold beauty. Why had he never noticed them before?

Shingo's mouth closed over his. He smelled of the river, and tasted like alcohol. Kenji yielded to him, let him push his tongue into his mouth and stroke him from the inside out. Then Shingo was kissing his neck, his mouth hot against Kenji's cold skin. Kenji writhed beneath him, desperate to shuck his wet clothing and revel in the feel of naked skin on skin. As if sensing his thoughts, Shingo stripped off first Kenji's shirt and then his own. Kenji arched in pleasure and pain as Shingo bit down on his nipple, and from then on he was lost in the mélange of blindingly erotic sensations the likes of which he'd never experienced.

"Oh, holy fuck!" he cried hoarsely as Shingo took him into his mouth. He gripped the sparse clumps of grass around him for traction, his heels digging trenches into the soft mud at the river's edge. He moaned and thrashed, cursing ever louder as he felt himself hurtling towards orgasm with the same heart pounding primal force that had propelled him down the tracks. Then suddenly he was there, leaping over the precipice and once again freefalling.

The tension left his body, draining out of him with each pulse. When he finally touched back down, he fell back against the rough, rocky beach. His senses returned to him, seemingly sharper now, and he could smell the freshly shorn grass, feel the wet, gritty sand beneath his hands, and hear the roaring rush of the river. Adrenaline still coursed through his veins, but the raw edge had been dulled. He didn't think he'd ever in his whole pathetic existence felt so good, so alive, and he had only one person to thank for it.

Shingo collapsed next to Kenji's spent form on the bank. He felt at peace at last. It was only in moments like these that he felt sated, all the need burned from him in a glorious rush of endorphins. It wouldn't last though. It never did for long. Soon the feeling would return, that feeling that was like an itch he couldn't scratch. It would build until he became desperate, so desperate that he would do anything to satisfy the craving. When it was all over, he usually regretted what he'd done. He always came back for more though. He couldn't stop himself if he tried, although he'd never really tried that hard.

He glanced over at Kenji. The Nissan driver's eyes were closed, a faint smile on his bruised lips. Shingo felt a sharp stab of regret. He shouldn't have involved him in this. People who got involved inevitably got hurt. Usually he didn't care. Peoples' decisions, and the consequences of those decisions, were their problems, not his. But there was something about Kenji, an innocence, for lack of a better word, that inspired feelings of protectiveness. The feelings were both unexpected and unnerving, and he wasn't interested in either of those things.

He sat up. "Come on, we should head back."

Kenji got up and retrieved his shirt from the grass. He seemed content for the moment, and unwilling to break the mood with small talk, for which Shingo was grateful. Without a word, Shingo struck off into the darkness in the general direction of town.

When they reached the parking lot, Kenji paused next to the EG-6. Sensing that he had been working up to something during their hike back, Shingo didn't wait for him to speak first.

"So ah, I guess I'll see you around," he said. He quickly opened his car door but Kenji stopped him before he could escape.

"Wait! I…I want to thank you, for…" Kenji trailed off, seemingly at a loss.

"For what?" Shingo demanded, his tone edged with belligerence.

"For…for making me feel…alive. For showing me just how stupid and petty my problems really are."

Shingo gave him a sharp look. "Don't you get it? It only feels that way right now. Tomorrow, all your problems will still be there, and they'll be just as real and shitty as they've always been. You'll still be you, and nothing will have changed."

"That's not true. I'll have changed. I feel like a different person, a better person."

Shingo put a steadying hand on Kenji's shoulder. "That's just the adrenaline talking. Trust me." _In the clear light of day, you'll regret what you did here tonight, and hate me for it_, he didn't add. Kenji would figure it out for himself soon enough. He pushed the Nissan driver out of the way and got into his car, slamming the door before Kenji could utter another word.

When Kenji got home that night, he peeled off his muddy, sodden clothing and jumped immediately into a steaming hot shower. As the water massaged the cold stiffness from his limbs, he cast his mind back over the incident on the bridge. When it finally struck him how close he had come to death, he began to shake all over. What if he had tripped, or drowned? He couldn't believe he'd done something so stupid and reckless on the urging of someone he knew to be mentally unbalanced. Imagine what it would have done to his mother to have to identify his corpse after it had washed up downstream, bloated beyond recognition. He was a fool to have listened to Shingo. And the sex…well…what was that about? What happened to "you don't want to hang around with me"? What, he wasn't good enough to date, but he was good enough to fuck?

He closed his eyes and felt like the biggest idiot on the planet. Why hadn't he listened to his friends? Like everyone else who already knew better, he rued the day he met Shouji Shingo.

In the morning when he woke up, he erased the name from the contact list on his mobile phone.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Shingo sat at the bar drinking like a man on a mission, which is exactly what he was. He was on a mission to get drunk, and as far as he could tell, all systems were go. He hadn't heard back from Kenji since the night he took him cliff jumping. He wasn't surprised - he'd expected as much. Besides, Kenji was far too calf-eyed and squeaky clean for him anyway.

He glanced up as someone sat down next to him to order a drink. It was a man, tall and heavily muscled. His head was shaved, and he had tattoos on his neck and arms. Shingo regarded him with an appraising (if rather drunken) look. Now this was more like it. He grinned sloppily at the man.

"Hey."

He felt the man size him up in return. Finally the man replied with a smile of his own. "Hey. Masaru."

"Shingo."

Masaru waved at the bartender, who came back with four shots of something clear. He pushed two of them in front of Shingo.

Shingo smirked and downed the shots in rapid succession. The alcohol, whatever it had been, hit him hard. He shook his head to clear it slightly.

"Good shit, right?" Masaru said.

In answer, Shingo kissed him. The way he figured it, anyone willing to buy him drinks deserved a favor.

Masaru deepened the kiss, bringing their bodies closer together. Shingo felt him hot and hard, grinding against his hip. After several minutes of this, Masaru whispered in his ear.

"If I get any harder, I'm gonna have to fuck you right here."

"I don't think the bartender would appur-appreciate that," Shingo replied.

Masaru laughed. He grabbed Shingo's arm and dragged him towards the exit. Shingo just let him. The world was starting to spin anyway, and he was losing track of what was going on around him.

In the parking lot, Masaru pushed him into a car. When the other man had gotten in and closed the door, Shingo unzipped his pants for him. Masaru was hard and surprisingly big, which only stoked Shingo's lust. He bent down and took him in his mouth. Masaru groaned and started the car. Shingo wondered why he'd done that, only to realize a short while later that they were actually moving. He tried to sit up to see where they were going, but Masaru pushed his head back down. He was only too happy to resume blowing Masaru, enjoying it so much that he forgot all about his concern.

Eventually they stopped, and Masaru pushed him out of the way so he could put the car in park. Shingo sat up and blinked in confusion at the deserted parking lot.

"Where-"

Masaru elbowed him in the face. Pain exploded from his nose outwards and he momentarily lost consciousness. The next thing he knew, Masaru had dragged him from the car.

"What-"

Masaru punched him across the jaw, and it was like being hit by a baseball bat. He fell back onto the dusty concrete, head reeling, nose bleeding profusely. Masaru kicked him several times in the ribs and back. He tried to back away, but the man gripped him by the throat and held him down.

"No-" Shingo wheezed.

"Shut up!" Masaru growled as he slammed his fist into Shingo's solar plexus.

Shingo doubled up, white hot pain turning his brain to static. Tears squeezed from the corners of his eyes, but no sounds could emerge from his spasming diaphragm.

Masaru continued to hit him, over and over, each heavy blow punctuated by a fresh insult.

"You filthy gay ass motherfucker," Masaru hissed. "Why are you so fucked up, huh?"

"I don't know," Shingo pleaded even as he tried desperately to protect his face and head from the onslaught. Unfortunately, that only infuriated his attacker.

"Yeah, you do," Masaru insisted. When Shingo didn't respond, Masaru slapped him hard. "Look at me, you fuck!"

Shingo howled as the blow caught him across the nose. Nevertheless, too terrified to do anything but obey, he squinted up through his involuntary tears to look Masaru in the eye. The madness twisting his attacker's handsome features chilled him to the bone.

"Your daddy fuck you when you were little, is that? Is that why you're so fucked up?"

"I don't even know who my dad was!" Shingo protested.

"Don't you dare lie to me, you sick, twisted freak! You pretended you didn't like it, but you did, didn't you? Admit it. Admit it, cockslut!"

The grip around Shingo's throat tightened. He clawed at Masaru's fingers, but for some reason, they were like steel traps. He struggled, his heels drumming uselessly against the pavement. He didn't know when or even if Masaru stopped. His body had gone numb and cold. His vision dimmed as the spots dancing in his vision became bigger, darker, overwhelming. He blacked out.

When Shingo woke, he was dazed and disoriented. He patted himself down and was both grateful and surprised to find that he was alive and more or less in one piece, though he felt as though he'd been run over by an Evo IV. He sat up and cast about the parking lot. Masaru was gone. He almost sobbed with relief. But then panic seized him when he realized that he had no idea where he was. He tottered to his feet and began to wander in the direction of the road. When he finally stumbled onto the road, he was lucky enough to see a street sign straight away. Unfortunately, he didn't recognize the street. He pulled his mobile phone from his pocket. At least Masaru hadn't taken that, not that the old ass piece of junk was worth anything. He needed help getting home, but there were a lot of issues attached to who he was going to call. He didn't have many friends, and what few he did have weren't particularly close. Of paramount importance was the concern that anyone he knew would see him in this condition. He needed to be able to trust them not to gossip about it the second they left his sight. Also, whoever he called would have to drive up and down the city streets looking for him with only the vaguest of clues as to his whereabouts. Who on earth would be stupid enough to do that, particularly at this hour of the night?

Kenji woke to the shrill electronic strains of his latest ringtone. He practically fell out of bed and hunted groggily around in the dark for the phone. When he finally found it, he didn't recognize the number. With a snort, he hit silence and went back to bed. Within seconds, however, the phone began ringing again. Annoyed, he answered it this time.

"Hello?" he mumbled into the phone.

"Kenji?"

Kenji stilled, his mind scrambling to put a name to the voice. Whoever they were, they sounded like they'd just clawed their way out of a grave. "Yes? Who is this?"

There was a pause during which he could hear heavy breathing. "It's Shingo."

Kenji frowned. "Look, what do you mean by calling me at this time of night? I don't want to jump off any more bridges, ok?"

"Kenji, listen to me. I…I don't know where I am. I'm sorry, about the bridge, and…and everything. I just…I need your help. Please."

The last word was a whisper, and Kenji could hear him breathing in a rather odd, hitchy way. "What happened?"

"Can you just come find me? I'm somewhere in Saitama." Shingo rattled off the location of the bar, and the name of the street that he was on.

"Ok, I've got a sat nav. I'll find you, ok? Just uh…hang on."

Kenji saw him just as he was about to turn around for another sweep of the street. He quickly pulled over and jumped out of the car.

Shingo was sitting on the ground, curled into a ball at the base of a burnt out streetlamp.

"Shingo? Is that you? Are you ok?" When Kenji approached him, the EG-6 driver looked up.

"Kenji?"

Shingo struggled to his feet. It was then that Kenji fully saw him. Shingo's face was a swollen mess of bruises, and his shirt, once white, was splattered with blood.

"Oh my god, what happened to you?" Kenji gasped.

Instead of answering him, Shingo lunged for him. Before he could react, the Nightkids driver threw his arms around him and hugged him as if he was a long lost lover out of one of those serial dramas his mom liked. Kenji stiffened, not at all sure how to react. Then he felt Shingo's disturbingly violent trembling, and he reflexively returned the hug. "It's gonna be ok," he mumbled. He continued to mutter reassurances until he finally felt Shingo's desperate grip on him relax. He carefully pulled back and searched Shingo's eyes. "I'm gonna take you to the hospital, ok?"

"No. I just…I want to go home. Please," Shingo added, his voice oddly rough.

Kenji frowned, knowing this was likely not the wisest course of action, but understanding intuitively how fragile Shingo was at that moment. He nodded, albeit with great misgivings.

Shingo reluctantly let go of him so that they could get into Kenji's 180.

"What's your address again?" Kenji asked. When Shingo responded, he punched the address into his sat nav and set it to take them there.

"What are you doing out here? What happened to you?" Kenji asked.

Shingo leaned his head against the window and stared out at the darkness beyond the reach of the halogen headlights. "Nothing," he said dully.

When they arrived at Shingo's apartment complex, Kenji was at a loss as to what to do. The EG-6 driver had remained uncommunicative for the duration of the journey, speaking only to give clarification to the navigator's directions. Kenji wanted to help, but he didn't know how, or even if he could.

"Thanks. Really," Shingo said. Then he opened the passenger door and got out of the car.

"Wait." Kenji hastily killed the engine and got out too. "I…I don't think you should be alone right now."

"I think I'll manage," Shingo said, although the sarcastic remark lacked the usual bite. Then he shot Kenji what he must have thought was a reassuring smile, but in actuality was as grim an expression as any Kenji had ever seen. "You've done enough. Besides, it's late. Your mom will be worried."

"I'm not leaving you like this," Kenji insisted.

Shingo stared at him for a long moment, and then the tension went out of him, as if he'd lost the will to argue. He slowly limped them across the parking lot, up two flights of stairs, and into his apartment. It was a studio flat with little more than a room, a bathroom, and a kitchenette. Kenji took in the impressive level of disarray in Shingo's apartment with his mouth slightly agape. How on earth did anybody live in such a mess?

"Wasn't expecting company," Shingo mumbled with a wave that seemed to encompass the entire flat.

"Uh, it's ok," Kenji said. "What uh, what can I do to help?"

"I'm just…I'm going to take a shower."

"You gonna be ok in there by yourself?"

Shingo gave him a withering look. "I sure hope so, because you're not coming in there with me."

That was more like Shingo, and it did more to allay Kenji's fears than any of his previous assurances.

Shingo let the searing hot water sluice over him. It stung his cuts and abrasions, but he didn't care. He wished the water could be hotter, but it was already turning his skin red.

This was his own stupid fault, he knew. What did he think was going to happen, picking up shady looking guys in seedy bars? Not to mention getting into their cars and letting them take him who knows where. If there was a prize for idiocy, he'd certainly won it tonight. No wonder everyone thought he was a failure.

Finally, after spending a significant amount of time berating himself, he forced himself to get out of the shower. He sat on the bed, his hair dripping wet spots onto the clean-ish t-shirt he'd pulled from the top of the laundry pile.

"So…you want to talk about it?" Kenji asked tentatively.

"Not particularly."

"Do you want a drink?"

Shingo shook his head. His post-drunken nausea had subsided in the shower, but the thought of drinking more just then made his stomach turn over.

"Is there anything I can do?" Kenji persisted.

Shingo sighed. "I'm fine, really. Why don't you go home?"

"Because I don't feel right leaving you like this," Kenji reiterated.

"Why do you care? You don't even like me."

"I like you," Kenji said, although even he sounded unconvinced.

"No you don't. It's ok - you don't have to pretend for my sake."

Kenji didn't say anything, and Shingo knew that his silence spoke more than any words ever could. He closed his eyes wearily and hoped that when he opened them again, Kenji would be gone. He heard movement, but to his surprise, a second later, he felt Kenji's warm hand on his shoulder.

"You're right, I don't like you," Kenji said. "I wanted to, very much, but you kind of made it impossible."

Shingo sighed. "I know."

"It's really self-destructive, you know, the way you drive people away," Kenji said.

Shingo cocked his head in surprise. Was it? He'd always thought he was doing the people he liked a favor.

"All the other stuff, too, like the race with Takumi, the bridge, this," Kenji said, gesturing at Shingo's face. "Why do you do it?"

Shingo shrugged. How could he explain the compulsion when he didn't even understand it himself?

"Aren't you scared that you might really get hurt someday?"

Shingo glanced over to find Kenji peering worriedly at him. He didn't want to admit it, but it scared the shit out of him sometimes. He shrugged again.

"Well…it scares _me_," Kenji said. "Maybe the next time you get the urge to do something crazy, you could call me instead."

Shingo regarded him with no small amount of suspicion. "Why would you do that for me?" he asked finally.

"Because we're friends," Kenji said simply.

Shingo snorted. "And just how do you figure that?"

"Well, when I was having a crappy day, you did everything you could think of to make me feel better. Now, maybe they weren't the brightest ideas, but that's the kind of thing a friend would do, isn't it?"

Shingo squinted at the unassuming Nissan driver, trying to refute his logic. Perhaps he'd underestimated Kenji after all. "But I made you jump off a bridge."

"You didn't make me do it," Kenji pointed out. "I was just trying to impress you. That was before I knew what a mess you are. I won't be making that mistake again, trust me!"

Shingo opened his mouth to snap off an angry retort only to find his irritation met with a sly grin. He snorted softly. "I did try to warn you."

"Yeah, you did," Kenji admitted. "I guess I'm not that bright either."

Shingo laughed.

"Come on, let's go to bed," Kenji said. "Unless you mind sharing the bed with me. If that's the case, then you can sleep on the floor, 'cause I'm not driving back to Akina tonight."

"I think I liked you better when you were all meek and spineless," Shingo said, though he waved Kenji to the bed and waited till he got in before he turned off the lights and joined him.

"You can keep your hands to yourself, too," Kenji said.

Shingo rolled his eyes in the dark. "Don't flatter yourself."

After a moment though, he felt Kenji roll over. A second later, an arm encircled his chest, and Kenji pulled him into a hug. Shingo put his arm over Kenji's and hugged him closer. There was nothing sexually charged about the embrace, it just felt nice - comforting. That night, Shingo drifted off to sleep feeling more content and at peace than he had since…possibly ever.


End file.
